When statements spark outrage, invoking “tood-marood” phrase becomes the easiest escape.
Dr. Ashraf Zainabi
After days of criticism over her remarks on private school teachers, J&K education minister Sakina Itoo offered a clarification. She argued that certain social media handles have taken her words out of context—tood-marooded, twisted and distorted beyond what she intended to convey.
There were no efforts of twisting, distorting or tood-marooding done by media channels who reported it. So you found an escape route in defending you statement and said, it was presented after tood-marood.
It is a familiar response. Not just in Jammu and Kashmir, not just in India, but across democracies, and across political affiliations. When a statement sparks outrage, the politicians blame the interpretation. They say, the audience misunderstood it, social media exaggerated it, and words were taken out of context. But this raises a deeper question, one that goes beyond a single minister or a single remark, Has tood-marood become the new escape route for political accountability?
The original observation attributed to the minister suggested that many private school teachers are either matriculates or 12th pass. The response was immediate. Teachers, school associations, and sections of civil society saw the comment as dismissive, even disrespectful, particularly towards a workforce that operates under pressure yet consistently delivers results.
The Private Schools Association of Jammu and Kashmir responded firmly, stating that “enrollment and performance are a testament to the dedication and qualification of private school teachers.” In one sentence, they shifted the debate from degrees to outcomes. Parents seemed to agree, not through statements, but through choices. Enrollment patterns over the years show a steady trust in private institutions, even among families with limited means. In education, trust is not ideological. It is practical.
Then came the clarification. The minister did not fully retract the substance of the statement. Instead, she reframed the narrative, her words had been misrepresented, stretched, distorted—tood-marooded. This is where the debate becomes more interesting. Because tood-marood is not just a linguistic expression. It is a political device. It shifts the focus, from what was said to how it was reported. From intent to interpretation. From accountability to ambiguity. In doing so, it creates a grey zone where responsibility becomes negotiable.
Every statement exists in a context. That is true. But not every criticism is a distortion. Sometimes, public reaction is simply a reflection of how words are heard, especially when they touch sensitive issues like education, dignity, and professional respect. If a large section of society, teachers, associations, parents, interprets a remark as dismissive, the question is not just whether the words were twisted. The question is, why did they resonate that way in the first place?. Communication, especially from those in power, is not judged only by intent. It is judged by impact. A minister’s words carry weight. They shape perception, influence morale, and signal priorities. In such a position, clarity is not optional. It is essential.
There is another layer to this debate that the tood-marood argument does not address. In 2000, the government itself introduced the Rehbar-e-Taleem (ReT) scheme, allowing 12th-pass candidates to teach in government schools. It was a policy born out of necessity, teacher shortages, inaccessible regions, urgent need. Those teachers were not questioned. They were empowered. Many of them went on to become permanent teachers with all benefits and perks as given to their counterparts, those who became teachers through a formal process of entrance examinations and personal interviews. They were treated as part of the solution, not a problem to be highlighted.
“Teachers in Jammu and Kashmir are vital societal pillars who deserve respect and clear communication rather than political maneuvering. Using linguistic ambiguity (tood-marood) to avoid accountability erodes public trust. Onus is on leaders to respect their words rather than going against their own promises.”
Today, when a similar qualification level is used as a critique against private school teachers, it appears selective. The same baseline is seen differently depending on who it applies to. This is not about defending one group or attacking another. It is about consistency.
A minister holds authority. That authority allows for policy-making, regulation, and reform. But with authority comes responsibility, not just in action, but in language. Public remarks are not casual observations. They are signals from the top. When those signals are perceived as dismissive, the damage is not limited to perception. It affects morale. Teachers who are already working under constraints, financial, institutional, social, begin to feel undervalued. And when morale drops, the system suffers.
The controversy, and the subsequent tood-marood clarification, risks diverting attention from more pressing questions, Why do private schools often outperform government schools in board results? What structural issues limit the effectiveness of even highly qualified government teachers? How can teacher quality be improved across both sectors, not through criticism, but through support? These are difficult questions. They require policy depth, not rhetorical defence.
The problem with repeated “out of context—tood-marood”defences is that they gradually erode trust. If every controversial statement is later explained as misinterpretation, then public discourse becomes unstable. Citizens begin to wonder, what was actually said? What was actually meant? And who is responsible for the gap between the two?
This does not mean that misrepresentation never happens. It does. But it cannot be the default explanation for every backlash. Otherwise, the burden of clarity shifts unfairly, from the speaker to the listener.
There is a simple way to avoid the tood-marood cycle. Speak in a way that cannot be easily misunderstood. In education, especially, this means acknowledging complexity, recognizing that qualifications matter, but so do results. Accepting that both government and private sectors have strengths and weaknesses. Valuing teachers as partners, not subjects of comparison. Such an approach does not eliminate criticism. But it grounds it in respect.
Tailpiece: The phrase tood-marood may offer temporary relief in a moment of controversy. It may deflect immediate pressure. But it does not resolve the underlying issue. Because the issue is not just what was said. It is how leadership engages with those it governs.
Teachers in Jammu and Kashmir, whether in government or private schools, are not abstractions. They are individuals shaping the region’s future, often under difficult conditions. They deserve clarity, consistency, and respect.
If political discourse continues to rely on tood-marood as an escape, it risks creating a culture where words are endlessly negotiable and accountability is endlessly deferred. And in such a culture, the real casualty is not reputation. It is trust. The challenge, therefore, is not to defend statements after they are made, but to own them when they are heard.
(The author is a teacher and a researcher based in Gowhar Pora Chadoora of Central Kashmir’s Budgam district. The views, opinions and conclusions expressed in this article are those of the author and aren’t necessarily in accord with the views of “Kashmir Horizon”)
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